


The Joys of Today

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Complete, Family, Fatherly Love, Fluff, Gen, Loss, Nostalgia, Turtle Tots, group hug, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A birthday present to ariane2014 - Happy Birthday!! 8/18/14</p><p>Splinter prepares to celebrate his boys’ 5th Mutation Day - which stirs memories of what might have been.</p><p>2k12 verse - Rated K - 1,014 words - Family/Fluff (but why am I crying?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joys of Today

Splinter laid the final chipped plate upon the low coffee table.  Too often, they were given a ball of rice, enough to fit into one tiny palm to nibble on for their meals; no need for plates.  But today was special. Today they would eat from serving plates like the humans above.  For his adopted children were to celebrate turning five years of age.  Later, in November, he would be unable to recreate the festival Shichi-go-san precisely, but he would do his best to keep the traditional practice alive.   To honor his boys surviving five years.  He would do his best to make a sugary treat to represent the thousand years candy and for a shrine . . . perhaps some candles and a few items he’d kept in his traveling trunk with the other bits of his past life, locked away, for now in the area that served as his personal space.  But he had time to plan for that.  November was still some months away.

He turned and rubbed his eyes, weary yet buoyed by the knowledge that his boys had survived another year; strong and healthy, despite the living conditions they found themselves in.  Despite the cold winters, sweltering summers; the periods of drought and hunger when supplies went scarce due to the roaming humans being too numerous, huddled in places where he’d normally scavenge.

“Daddy!” A voice rang out, young and sweet, followed by the sounds of bare feet padding over cold concrete. 

He turned then and crouched to catch his oldest into his arms.  Greeting him with an embrace that was fiercely returned by the small thin arms around his neck. 

“Good morning,” he said and glancing up, he noticed Donatello shyly creeping towards them, unsure of his intrusion, his security blanket clutched in one fist.  His keen eyes watchful.  Splinter smiled and reached for his child, pulling him into the embrace.  Side by side in his arms; Leonardo and Donatello.  “Happy Mutation Day, my sons,” he said to the tops of their heads.  He glanced around to see his youngest two, still missing.  He gave a small shake of his head.  They’d been up late again, most likely wrestling and whispering secrets long after he’d told them to get to sleep. 

“Go wake your little brothers,” Splinter said.  Leonardo and Donatello exchanged glances.  They moved out from Splinter’s arms reluctantly and glanced back at their bedroom.  Splinter made an impatient sound, “Unless you wish to wait longer for your gifts?”

Leonardo’s head snapped side to side, eyes wide.  He grabbed Donatello’s wrist and pulled him along.  “C’mon, Donnie!  Let’s wake them up!”

Splinter watched their little forms hurry to fetch their brothers.  A soft smile played along his mouth.  He moved to the worn cushions piled on the floor where his children gathered for their story-times.  He arranged the gifts, each wrapped in newspaper, tied with twine, two per each child, and rearranged them.  Feeling a giddy nervousness that he blamed on his lack of sleep the night before, having spent the long hours finishing the hems of the boys’ hakama pants. 

He did not have enough material to craft the traditional haori jackets, but was pleased with what he’d been able to scavenge.  The elastic had been particularly hard to find, but he’d been fortunate to come across a bag full of oversized men’s clothing, discarded near the day-old bread shop only two weeks before.  Inside had been several pairs of oversized sweatpants.  The hakama pants had only been a wish until this windfall.

A sudden pang of sadness erupted within him and he felt at once the split that inevitably occurred in these vulnerable moments when he was distracted; when his guard was down; when he became too immersed in some emotion circling his family.  The familiar flavor of bitter-sweetness filled him as his mind traveled the path of memories that would never be.  Of a home in Japan.  A wife, his love, greeting him in the early morning hours with soft kisses upon his temple and jaw.  His eyes stung.  His throat tightened. 

Of a daughter . . . she’d be turning seven now, today . . . is that why he chose this day, of all days, to celebrate his boys’ mutations? Was it some form of self-flagellation because he felt, on some deep level, the need to punish himself for not doing more, for not saving his baby girl from the fire? The fire caused by his own stupidity?  His argument with his brother . . . the brittle rivalry . . . the churning hatred that had developed between them, shaming his father . . . dishonoring his family . . . leading to the loss of all that he once held dear.

“Oh boy!  Pwesents!”

Michelangelo’s happy voice rang through his gloom, bringing him back to the present, back to the reality of his own small happiness, stolen away from the coldness of the world.  One he horded and treasured and would safeguard for as long as he could.  His makeshift family, his boys.

He wiped at his watering eyes furiously just as Michelangelo bounded towards him.  Splinter stooped, reached down, and lifted him high above his head, tossing him once into to air.  Mikey’s shriek of joy echoed around them; the sound of everything good in the world.  Splinter caught him and hugged him, then set him down, only to turn and stretch to grip his last son, Raphael, standing to one side, watchful and careful, by the shoulders, dragging him forward into his arms.  At the last second, Splinter caught the guarded smile just before his boy buried his face into his chest; strong arms even at such a tender age holding tight.  They bumped forward as Michelangelo tackled Splinter once more from behind.

“Gwoup hug!” he cried.  “C’mon evewybody!”

Leonardo and Donatello dashed over.  Splinter chuckled and closed his eyes are two more pairs of arms encircled him.  They snuggled into a heap.  Splinter sank into their tiny hands.  Those little fingers and palms, unknowingly protecting him from the haunts of his past; securing for him a future filled with love; a second chance at things lost; an unconditional promise of bonds unbroken.  For all time.  Forever.


End file.
